Category Archives: humanity

I Just Want to Be

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balance

“I’m miserable,” she utters despondently.
Her head drops to the table,
face smushed into the sleeves of her sweatshirt.
“I just want to be happy.”

Happy? Hell, I’d settle for functional.

“Is that too much to ask?”
She sniffles into her sleeve.

“Not at all,” he says.
“Everyone deserves to be happy.”
Kind eyes. Calm voice. Practiced cadence.

How does one deserve an emotion? I wonder.
Either you feel it, or you don’t.

Or is it a state, and not an emotion?
The state of happiness…
Can one deserve to be in a state?

What about the state of depression?
No one deserves that, that’s for sure.
Then again, no one would likely say,
“I just want to be depressed.”

The clock on the wall seems frozen.
I will the hands to move more quickly.
They don’t.
Perhaps I don’t deserve a faster clock.

He turns toward me. Observation mode.
I don’t meet his gaze, but I don’t look away, either.
Blank eyes. Silence. Practiced apathy.

“And how are you this morning?” he asks gently.
I consider the question.
Perhaps I should have prepared a response.
It’s not like I didn’t know he’d ask.

“Depressed,” I say.
“That’s why I’m here.”

I just want to be well.
Is that too much to ask?

The Daily Post Discovery Challenge: Radical Authenticity

Story Time

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bespoken

“What story do the things you wear tell about you?”
(The Daily Post Discover Challenge: Outer Layers)

The story I portray,
the story I live,
the story you tell yourself about me,
the story I tell myself about me…

Do the clothes I wear
tell about me,
or are they simply fodder for
lots of stories?

It’s so tempting to judge
a book by its cover.

Belated Quest

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belated-quest

Sad to think
I never really knew you.
As I sift through gleanings
of a life concluded,
hidden facets surface that I am
just now seeing for the first time.

Sad to think
I am left to piece together
a life story that for all these years
lay nestled in yellowing tissue paper,
carefully tucked away at the bottom of
your cedar chest.

The Daily Post weekly photo challenge: Quest

Talk Like a Dove

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dreamstime-dove© Barbarico | Dreamstime.com – White Dove

 

September 21st is International Day of Peace or “Peace Day.”

I can’t help but wonder about priorities when a day or so ago, I saw a lot of internet hype over “Talk Like a Pirate Day.” And today, I happened to see Peace Day listed in a single obscure online post.

Granted, that may say more about my own interests and inclinations, as Big Brother of the Internet parses my cursor’s every move and feeds me whatever It thinks I want to see and/or what It wants me to see.  But I’d rather not perceive myself as so simplistic, nor the Internet as so intrusive. No offense to pirates.

At any rate, I’d like to add my voice (figuratively) to the call for world peace, and share with you a favorite video of mine (but not me). “United” by Playing for Change. Enjoy:

From a Different Lifetime

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Silence

one-hand

One hand clapping

Today the Daily Post’s one-word prompt is Silence.

I wrote a poem years ago with that title, and will share it here. The poem has a totally different voice and came from a completely (almost) different person than I am today.

I am content with who I am today, and grateful for the journey that got me here. Sometimes it’s a valuable exercise to look back and be reminded from whence one evolved.

Silence

Before ego there was silence.
Then ego emerged, dragged by intangible forceps
from the serene sea of oneness with its maker
into the harsh artificial light of material world.

No wonder ego screamed.

The small, still voice – also part of Oneness –
was drowned out by a raucous cacophony.
Ego began devouring material world like a strident crow
feasting at an overripe dumpster.

I meditate, try to invoke the resurgence of silence,
but my goal eludes me.
I strive to empty my mind,
but ego will not go away.

It careens from synapse to synapse,
ricocheting off every thought mote
that sifts down through my span of consciousness.

Silence is golden (so they say),
but when I fall mute, others worry.
Outwardly I am judged as too quiet.
Inside, ego shouts in derision.

Is silence relative or absolute?
Is there such a thing as too silent?
Or partial silence? (The sound of one hand clapping, perhaps…)
We seldom understand what we hear.
Why would we expect to comprehend silence?

It is not essential to fill every void.
Only ego thinks this way.
Silence is not a void begging to be filled,
but I do beg…

that ego will surrender, and the void in me can be filled
with the still, small voice that is Silence.

~ MCC (@ 2000)

“Somewhere we know that without silence words lose their meaning, that without listening speaking no longer heals, that without distance closeness cannot cure.”
~ Henri Nouwen

Weekend Coffee Share 9/3/16

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160903

If we were having coffee, I’d tell you I can’t believe it’s September already! I suppose a lot of people are feeling that way. The weather has been pleasantly cooler this week, but I know there are still hot days to come before autumn settles in.

Autumn is my favorite time of year, and I have plenty of indoor projects lined up for the rainy season. More painting. More demolishing portions of the house and hoping I can reinstate them. And maybe more whittling:

If we were having coffee, I’d show you my “found art sculpture” that I’ve been whittling on and have decided is finished now. It is a section of wood that I pruned out of a tree, formed by two branches that grew together into a permanent knot.

identity2

Knotted branch pre-whittling.

I didn’t notice the unusual growth until I was gathering the cut branches to put them in the compost bin. Had I seen it before cutting it down, I may have left it to grow, to continue its bonding of two into one. But at least I spotted it in time to save it from being chipped up for mulch.

finished

Knotted branch post-whittling.

I was going to put a coat of polyurethane on the wood to protect it, but I coated a sample piece of the same type of wood and I don’t like the look or feel of it. So this piece is going to stay au naturale.

I showed it to my sister in-law and she commented on how the feel of the smooth wood is calming. I hadn’t thought of it that way before she mentioned it, but I agree. And I’m glad I stuck to using only my utility knife for the project, instead of sanding it smooth. I think perhaps that affects the feel.

So maybe this is not a piece to be stuck on display and allowed to gather dust. Maybe it’s meant to be interactive. Handled now and again for textile calming and comfort. Admired for the complexity/simplicity of nature.

I know, I know. It’s just a piece of wood. But in that vein, one could also say that Michelangelo’s marble statue of David is just a rock.

And now that I’ve likened myself to Michelangelo, I suppose it’s time to come back to mundane reality. There are dishes to be washed, laundry to be folded, and whittling scraps to be swept up.

Thanks for stopping by and listening to my dissertation on the sublime qualities of a chunk of wood. Feel free to run your hand over the smooth branches on your way out, and have a calm, peaceful weekend.

#WeekendCoffeeShare is generously hosted by Diana at PartTimeMonsterBlog.com.

Pop-top

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pop top

 

I opened my mind once;
pulled that ring on the pop-top lid
and peeled it back.
It made a scritchy noise, that
aluminum on aluminum sound you hear
when you pull the tab on
your favorite cheap canned beer.

My mind hadn’t been opened
in a very long time, and I was curious as to
what might come pouring out.
Imagine my surprise when
I tipped it bottoms up and found
Not. One. Drop.

The thing about opening a parched mind
is that it suddenly realizes just how
thirsty it’s been.
It wants to sate itself with new experiences.
New thoughts, sights, sounds, aromas.
New textures, emotions, connections, insights.
And surprises. It craves the unexpected.

Have you ever tried to replace
a pop-top tab on a can of cheap beer
once the can’s been thoroughly shaken?
With froth shooting out and
liquid overflowing, it’s impossible.

You wouldn’t want to close it back up, anyway.
Once unsealed, if you don’t drink the beverage fresh,
it just goes flat and stale.

I couldn’t close my mind again,
couldn’t make that pop-top tab
fit back into place.
But that’s okay.
If I don’t imbibe these new
experiences while fresh,
they will just go stale and flat.

Let’s raise a toast
to open minds!
(But let’s forego
the cheap canned beer.)

The Daily Post Discover Challenge: Open-Minded